Month: May 2013

Posted on by Dave Bonta

Æcerbot

By the morning we were come close to the land, and every body made ready to get on shore.
The King and the two Dukes did eat their breakfast before they went, and there being set some ship’s diet before them, only to show them the manner of the ship’s diet, they eat of nothing else but pease and pork, and boiled beef.
I had Mr. Darcy in my cabin and Dr. Clerke, who eat with me, told me how the King had given 50l. to Mr. Sheply for my Lord’s servants, and 500l. among the officers and common men of the ship. I spoke with the Duke of York about business, who called me Pepys by name, and upon my desire did promise me his future favour.
Great expectation of the King’s making some Knights, but there was none. About noon (though the brigantine that Beale made was there ready to carry him) yet he would go in my Lord’s barge with the two Dukes. Our Captain steered, and my Lord went along bare with him. I went, and Mr. Mansell, and one of the King’s footmen, with a dog that the King loved, (which shit in the boat, which made us laugh, and me think that a King and all that belong to him are but just as others are), in a boat by ourselves, and so got on shore when the King did, who was received by General Monk with all imaginable love and respect at his entrance upon the land of Dover. Infinite the crowd of people and the horsemen, citizens, and noblemen of all sorts.
The Mayor of the town came and gave him his white staff, the badge of his place, which the King did give him again. The Mayor also presented him from the town a very rich Bible, which he took and said it was the thing that he loved above all things in the world.
A canopy was provided for him to stand under, which he did, and talked awhile with General Monk and others, and so into a stately coach there set for him, and so away through the town towards Canterbury, without making any stay at Dover.
The shouting and joy expressed by all is past imagination. Seeing that my Lord did not stir out of his barge, I got into a boat, and so into his barge, whither Mr. John Crew stepped, and spoke a word or two to my Lord, and so returned, we back to the ship, and going did see a man almost drowned that fell out of his boat into the sea, but with much ado was got out.
My Lord almost transported with joy that he had done all this without any the least blur or obstruction in the world, that could give an offence to any, and with the great honour he thought it would be to him.
Being overtook by the brigantine, my Lord and we went out of our barge into it, and so went on board with Sir W. Batten, and the Vice and Rear-Admirals.
At night my Lord supped and Mr. Thomas Crew with Captain Stoakes, I supped with the Captain, who told me what the King had given us. My Lord returned late, and at his coming did give me order to cause the marke to be gilded, and a Crown and C. R. to be made at the head of the coach table, where the King to-day with his own hand did mark his height, which accordingly I caused the painter to do, and is now done as is to be seen.

We come close to the land, eat
nothing but peas and pork
and boiled beef,
eat with great love,
shit with all imaginable respect
the land
infinite place
rich world.
I see a man almost drowned in joy
give honor to an oak
with a gilded crown.


Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Friday 25 May 1660.

Posted on by Luisa A. Igloria

Little Etude

I could barely keep
my eyes open after digging
in the dirt, out in full sun,

hands mint-wreathed as though
tomorrow might never come—
The soil warm

as affection, clouds
banked somewhere else; rain held
temporarily in abeyance— How easy

to forget how the end of a breath
has the same sound as a sigh;
how the scent, the music,

become richer and more clear
as the body leans deeper
toward its fall—

 

In response to thus: small stone (242).

Posted on by Dave Bonta

Yeshua ben Yosef

Up, and made myself as fine as I could, with the Linning stockings on and wide canons that I bought the other day at Hague. Extraordinary press of noble company, and great mirth all the day. There dined with me in my cabin (that is, the carpenter’s) Dr. Earle and Mr. Hollis, the King’s Chaplins, Dr. Scarborough, Dr. Quarterman, and Dr. Clerke, Physicians, Mr. Darcy, and Mr. Fox (both very fine gentlemen), the King’s servants, where we had brave discourse.
Walking upon the decks, where persons of honour all the afternoon, among others, Thomas Killigrew (a merry droll, but a gentleman of great esteem with the King), who told us many merry stories: one, how he wrote a letter three or four days ago to the Princess Royal, about a Queen Dowager of Judaea and Palestine, that was at the Hague incognita, that made love to the King, &c., which was Mr. Cary (a courtier’s) wife that had been a nun, who are all married to Jesus.
At supper the three Drs. of Physic again at my cabin; where I put Dr. Scarborough in mind of what I heard him say about the use of the eyes, which he owned, that children do, in every day’s experience, look several ways with both their eyes, till custom teaches them otherwise. And that we do now see but with one eye, our eyes looking in parallel lines.
After this discourse I was called to write a pass for my Lord Mandeville to take up horses to London, which I wrote in the King’s name,1 and carried it to him to sign, which was the first and only one that ever he signed in the ship Charles. To bed, coming in sight of land a little before night.

A noble company dine with the carpenter,
a merry droll man of Palestine
that made love king.
I hear him say
that children look with both their eyes
till custom teaches otherwise.
We now see as horses do,
a sign only coming in sight a little before.


Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Thursday 24 May 1660.

Posted on by Dave Bonta

Publishing news: two reviews and a call for artist(s)

Most poetry chapbooks are lucky to get any reviews, let alone one as kind as this, from long-time blogger Jonah at Love During Wartime in response to Twelve Simple Songs:

Song Two, “My parachute knapsack,” is another example of the dialogue between photo and poem. The poem closes with the lines “That’s what it was like / being alone.” The photograph is of a pair of boots on a red porch, a white wall behind them and white snow bordering the left of the porch. This is possibly the most “illustrative” pairing in the collection, yet I don’t see this as cloyingly obvious. There’s no self-pity on either the verso or recto: both speak of being alone, rather than being lonely. Each offer images devoid of sentimentality.

Do read the whole review… and of course check out the collection if you haven’t already. (And note that I still have some 20%-off coupons available for the print-on-demand version.)

Last weekend, Jonah blogged another review, this one for a collection I haven’t even bothered to publish aside from the series at Via Negativa and accompanying audio recordings: Manual. He wrote, in part:

I read through this brief collection in a few hours. But each poem deserves its own hour. Many of us think of poetry as some code that must be deciphered. These poems are a fine antidote to that fear: they are approachable, friendly (in their imperious way), tender, often whimsical, and sly.

It’s always gratifying when one’s work garners these kinds of close reads (especially of course when the reader has such a favorable reaction!). Both these projects have also sparked unsolicited artistic responses — close readings of a sort — from the Dutch filmmaker Swoon (Marc Neys): a single, seven-and-a-half-minute-long film for Twelve Simple Songs as read by Nic S., and a series of five films for poems in Manual. What a gift.

I now have a number of cycles of poems like Manual that feel complete and could be made into books. The question is always: Would the effort to design and produce a book be worth it? How does one measure such things if you’re giving your work away? How many downloads and purchases are enough? Or should I submit these collections to other publishers on the chance that they may be able to do a better job reaching readers, even though it means in most cases giving up control over design and the chance to have digital versions? Right now I’m putting most of my effort into an anthology of newly revised work which I may also self-publish; it’s clear to me that this book will offer value to readers simply as an act of curation from my too-voluminous online corpus. And I’m thinking I’d also like to pursue an idea suggested by Jean Morris in a recent comment here: an illustrated version of Bear Medicine.

So here’s the proposal: I’m looking for an artist or artists with an affinity for bears to collaborate on a small book incorporating my Bear Medicine prose poems. I’m thinking woodblock prints, but paintings or other media might work, too. Publication would be digital and print-on-demand under the Via Negativa Press imprint. I can’t afford to pay much. Contact me if you’re interested.

Posted on by Luisa A. Igloria

Todavía no

Boatman who will take me
through the mist and rain, I have ready
a piece of bread, a little copper

coin for the meter
of your time, for passage through
those treacherous channels—

And I know today
could be the day, but my heart’s in shreds
from the brightness of yellow umbrellas

on the sidewalk, from Louie’s
Let’s Call the Whole Thing Off
brassy on the radio And oh! If we

ever part, Then that might break my heart!
And my heart’s a knob of sugared ginger
warm in my mouth, my heart’s

the room I’ve yet to dust, polish,
put in order, for all my loves who are coming
any minute now to while away the hours—

 

In response to Via Negativa: Feast.

Posted on by Dave Bonta

Feast

The Doctor and I waked very merry, only my eye was very red and ill in the morning from yesterday’s hurt.
In the morning came infinity of people on board from the King to go along with him.
My Lord, Mr. Crew, and others, go on shore to meet the King as he comes off from shore, where Sir R. Stayner bringing His Majesty into the boat, I hear that His Majesty did with a great deal of affection kiss my Lord upon his first meeting.
The King, with the two Dukes and Queen of Bohemia, Princess Royal, and Prince of Orange, came on board, where I in their coming in kissed the King’s, Queen’s, and Princess’s hands, having done the other before. Infinite shooting off of the guns, and that in a disorder on purpose, which was better than if it had been otherwise.
All day nothing but Lords and persons of honour on board, that we were exceeding full.
Dined in a great deal of state, the Royall company by themselves in the coach, which was a blessed sight to see.
I dined with Dr. Clerke, Dr. Quarterman, and Mr. Darcy in my cabin.
This morning Mr. Lucy came on board, to whom and his company of the King’s Guard in another ship my Lord did give three dozen of bottles of wine. He made friends between Mr. Pierce and me.
After dinner the King and Duke altered the name of some of the ships, viz. the Nazeby into Charles; the Richard, James; the Speakers Mary; the Dunbar (which was not in company with us), the Henry; Winsly, Happy Return; Wakefield, Richmond; Lambert; the Henrietta; Cheriton, the Speedwell; Bradford, the Success.
That done, the Queen, Princess Royal, and Prince of Orange, took leave of the King, and the Duke of York went on board the London, and the Duke of Gloucester, the Swiftsure. Which done, we weighed anchor, and with a fresh gale and most happy weather we set sail for England. All the afternoon the King walked here and there, up and down (quite contrary to what I thought him to have been), very active and stirring.
Upon the quarterdeck he fell into discourse of his escape from Worcester, where it made me ready to weep to hear the stories that he told of his difficulties that he had passed through, as his travelling four days and three nights on foot, every step up to his knees in dirt, with nothing but a green coat and a pair of country breeches on, and a pair of country shoes that made him so sore all over his feet, that he could scarce stir.
Yet he was forced to run away from a miller and other company, that took them for rogues.
His sitting at table at one place, where the master of the house, that had not seen him in eight years, did know him, but kept it private; when at the same table there was one that had been of his own regiment at Worcester, could not know him, but made him drink the King’s health, and said that the King was at least four fingers higher than he.
At another place he was by some servants of the house made to drink, that they might know him not to be a Roundhead, which they swore he was.
In another place at his inn, the master of the house, as the King was standing with his hands upon the back of a chair by the fire-side, kneeled down and kissed his hand, privately, saying, that he would not ask him who he was, but bid God bless him whither he was going. Then the difficulty of getting a boat to get into France, where he was fain to plot with the master thereof to keep his design from the four men and a boy (which was all his ship’s company), and so got to Fecamp in France.
At Rouen he looked so poorly, that the people went into the rooms before he went away to see whether he had not stole something or other. In the evening I went up to my Lord to write letters for England, which we sent away with word of our coming, by Mr. Edw. Pickering. The King supped alone in the coach; after that I got a dish, and we four supped in my cabin, as at noon.
About bed-time my Lord Bartlett (who I had offered my service to before) sent for me to get him a bed, who with much ado I did get to bed to my Lord Middlesex in the great cabin below, but I was cruelly troubled before I could dispose of him, and quit myself of him.
So to my cabin again, where the company still was, and were talking more of the King’s difficulties; as how he was fain to eat a piece of bread and cheese out of a poor boy’s pocket; how, at a Catholique house, he was fain to lie in the priest’s hole a good while in the house for his privacy.
After that our company broke up, and the Doctor and I to bed. We have all the Lords Commissioners on board us, and many others. Under sail all night, and most glorious weather.

Red in the morning,
a great orange disorder on which to dine.
Bottles of wine alter us.
We walk up and down and weep,
sore from sitting,
and kneel—not to the king
but to eat a piece of bread
out of a poor boy’s pocket.


Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Wednesday 23 May 1660.

Posted on by Dave Bonta

Gun-happy

Up very early, and now beginning to be settled in my wits again, I went about setting down my last four days’ observations this morning. After that, was trimmed by a barber that has not trimmed me yet, my Spaniard being on shore.
News brought that the two Dukes are coming on board, which, by and by, they did, in a Dutch boat, the Duke of York in yellow trimmings, the Duke of Gloucester in grey and red.
My Lord went in a boat to meet them, the Captain, myself, and others, standing at the entering port.
So soon as they were entered we shot the guns off round the fleet. After that they went to view the ship all over, and were most exceedingly pleased with it.
They seem to be both very fine gentlemen.
After that done, upon the quarter- deck table, under the awning, the Duke of York and my Lord, Mr. Coventry, and I, spent an hour at allotting to every ship their service, in their return to England; which having done, they went to dinner, where the table was very full: the two Dukes at the upper end, my Lord Opdam next on one side, and my Lord on the other.
Two guns given to every man while he was drinking the King’s health, and so likewise to the Duke’s health.
I took down Monsieur d’Esquier to the great cabin below, and dined with him in state alone with only one or two friends of his.
All dinner the harper belonging to Captain Sparling played to the Dukes.
After dinner, the Dukes and my Lord to see the Vice and Rear-Admirals; and I in a boat after them.
After that done, they made to the shore in the Dutch boat that brought them, and I got into the boat with them; but the shore was so full of people to expect their coming, as that it was as black (which otherwise is white sand), as every one could stand by another.
When we came near the shore, my Lord left them and came into his own boat, and General Pen and I with him; my Lord being very well pleased with this day’s work.
By the time we came on board again, news is sent us that the King is on shore; so my Lord fired all his guns round twice, and all the fleet after him, which in the end fell into disorder, which seemed very handsome.
The gun over against my cabin I fired myself to the King, which was the first time that he had been saluted by his own ships since this change; but holding my head too much over the gun, I had almost spoiled my right eye.
Nothing in the world but going of guns almost all this day. In the evening we began to remove cabins; I to the carpenter’s cabin, and Dr. Clerke with me, who came on board this afternoon, having been twice ducked in the sea to-day coming from shore, and Mr. North and John Pickering the like. Many of the King’s servants came on board to- night; and so many Dutch of all sorts came to see the ship till it was quite dark, that we could not pass by one another, which was a great trouble to us all.
This afternoon Mr. Downing (who was knighted yesterday by the King) was here on board, and had a ship for his passage into England, with his lady and servants. By the same token he called me to him when I was going to write the order, to tell me that I must write him Sir G. Downing.
My Lord lay in the roundhouse to-night.
This evening I was late writing a French letter myself by my Lord’s order to Monsieur Kragh, Embassador de Denmarke a la Haye, which my Lord signed in bed. After that I to bed, and the Doctor, and sleep well.

Settled in my wits, I set down
my guns—both fine gentlemen.

Two guns give
every man two friends.

My pen and I fire twice
and I almost spoil my eye.

Nothing in the world
but going of guns all day.

I am a duck in the sea,
a knight with an order to sleep.


Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Tuesday 22 May 1660. I’m experimenting with a new style of presentation, copied from Nets by Jen Bervin (an erasure of Shakespeare’s sonnets; see the review by Sarah Sloat). I like that I can format it entirely in HTML and don’t have to post an image, and it lets the reader see the precise relationship of salvaged to erased text. But I miss the hand-made quality of a literal erasure.

Posted on by Dave Bonta

Ad Man

erasure of a page from Samuel Pepys' diary

In a bed of oysters
I am secure as death
and in the arms of a severe knight
I find sure sales,
there being nothing
in any man’s mind
but the pleasure of loss.


Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Monday 21 May 1660.